


Plaguefalling

by maldraxxus-official (mechadogmarron)



Series: After the Fall [1]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Canon-Compliant, Gen, chock full of my weird Maldraxxus headcanons, plague deviser marileth's no good very bad day, pretty angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:35:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28593345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mechadogmarron/pseuds/maldraxxus-official
Summary: An account of the day the House of Plagues fell, as experienced in real time by Plague Deviser Marileth.
Relationships: Plague Deviser Marileth & Margrave Stradama
Series: After the Fall [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2111043
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Plaguefalling

The thing about Maldraxxus that those traitorous liches failed to understand - the thing the other realms, too, often questioned - was that Maldraxxus valued loyalty. The Primus's values were better known, of course, more openly spoken of, but you protected your House, spoke well of your House (perhaps groused a bit), defended your House. You respected your Margrave. You held those you went to combat with in the highest esteem. 

Marileth had never seen combat, not directly. His battlefield was the laboratory, and he was rarely given an opportunity to see the results of his work. It was no matter. Better that way, better that the Shadowlands had not been called into a war so harsh that a scientist, and more importantly a Margrave's Soulbind, needed to take to the field. The effect of feeling your Soulbind die was immense. Though he had no doubts Stradama -- dear, sweet Stradama, kind and intelligent and fierce and unafraid to take no prisoners, unafraid to leave the land fallow for centuries for the peace of the afterlife - would pull through his death with a stiff spine and a burning heart, there was no need to make her suffer so acutely. And even the smallest moment of weakness could be exploited. The House of Eyes had learned that lesson well. 

He had so little time. _So little time_. How much time was a mystery, but not one he could waste his unlife pondering. Stradama was too wise to paint a target on his back by naming him Baron, but he carried every bit as much responsibility as any of the officials of any other House. And that was on top of the potion he was crafting, the one to protect against the madness that seemed to be overtaking Maldraxxus, and _that_ was on top of his Apprentice having gone missing after a late night's spying. He shuddered to think what might've happened to him; it had been dangerous work, especially for one without the House of Eyes' training. But desperate times called for desperate measures. Hopefully he had simply deserted. 

He couldn't dwell on that, though. He had more important work. Stradama had laughed when he had named the great violet slime he had given rise to Kevin. That had been the whole point of the name, of course, a moment of levity in a harsh time. He tried to have a sense of humor, even after all of these years in the dim gray of the greatest realm in the underworld. He could barely remember his life before at this point, but he remembered how harsh it had been, how he had labored and toiled at his work, taking not even a moment to enjoy the fruits of his labor. That commitment was what made him an effective Maldraxxan, a valued asset to dear Stradama. 

But that was a tangent. His thoughts were so muddled nowadays. It was a natural stress reaction, that his thoughts grew loose and hard to collect. He had always been a little unhinged, but it grew harder and harder to keep himself sane-ish. Much like Kevin, when it decided it would rather ooze about. The thing had a mind of its own, a trait delightful in relaxed times and terrifying now. It was from Kevin's plasma that he had begun to work on the clarity potion, a bubbling brew that would both protect the margrave from those who would do her harm and perhaps, if extra could be prepared, allow him the clarity to invent yet more effective weapons against the liches who were so certainly out to destroy them. 

The problem was: Kevin kept oozing off on its own. And that left him hurrying around the Seat, and sometimes even outside of it. He knew it was dangerous to be out and about on his own, but there was nothing he could do. You couldn't really _contain_ slimes, not if they didn't want to be contained. Though conventional wisdom suggested that they were mindless, heartless, soulless creatures, and certainly they didn't have a soul in the same way newcomers had before the drought, they _did_ have a sort of will of their own. He could only hope that Kevin's will wasn't a danger to the House of the Plagues. 

And that - to make a long story short - was why he was so far from home. It was further than Kevin would usually go, and the slime had moved with a quickness and a strength that went far beyond its usual lazy, if occasionally motivated, nature. It had entirely left Plague territory, halfway to the Arena and then some, and it was still trucking just a _little_ faster than his old bones could manage. He still had bones, didn't he? He occasionally had his doubts. If only his anatomy could be as indiscernible as his beloved creations'. Oh, to be a slime. The perfect life-form. 

"Kevin, we've got to get back to the House of Plagues. We need to craft the potion." He didn't know how much time he had left, but it couldn't be long. The liches were incredibly dangerous creatures, ones with a certain resistance to death. He had heard what had happened to the House of Eyes, had heard of their absolute decimation. No other house had helped Eyes, and none would come to help Plagues, not when they had so long been feared for their abilities. A construct could kill a man with ease; the House of Eyes and their wisdom could bring down even the mightiest, finding weak points that could have never even been imagined. But the House of Plagues could eliminate a city without a second thought. Marileth did not know what some of his work had gone to, did not _want_ to know. His loyalty was to the Shadowlands and to Stradama, and he would trust in the Purpose, as much as any Maldraxxian did. (Which wasn't a lot. But it was something.) 

Kevin burbled, spinning around to move in circles around him. It had no eyes in which Marileth might see its intents, but something had gotten into it, something big, something strange. He often wondered how much the slimes understood, if it might be trying to communicate something. But he wasn't ignorant; he knew his wishful thinking was just that. A slime might have a soul if an ensouled being was transformed into one, but his Kevin was a test-tube's child. New life and new souls were one and the same in the mortal planes, yet mutually exclusive in the Shadowlands. Anima might make a good facsimile, but-

He saw it before he heard it, heard it before he felt it, felt it before he _felt it_ ; a great green explosion that spit out green-yellow smog and shook the very earth beneath him, that tore at his soul. The first time it ate at him was painful, but not unbearable, the whispering madness, the sickening air. He had lost Soulbinds before, had felt their pain and confusion and fear and disappearance. Maldraxxans were not Kyrians; if you trusted a fellow with your life on the battlefield or in the lab, you could trust them with your spirit. Once, once was doable. The second shot of pain knocked him to the ground. Something was happening to Stradama. He had to go - but he had barely gathered the strength to stand when he once again fell. Kevin circled closer, protective. Three. It was a pox of some sort; he knew the pain well, though never so intensely, and never thrice at once. Four. Five. 

Spirits in the Shadowlands didn't really fall unconscious, at least not in Maldraxxus. You were dead proper there, not some facsimile of life that could still sleep and dream. He felt every poison as it settled in his dear Margrave's lungs, felt her thoughts become unsettled, raging, confused, pained. The kindness and wisdom that had defined her evaporated like her skin, and he shuddered. Six. Seven. Eight. Where had his Apprentice gone? Why did he have to face this alone, with none but Kevin for company? Nine. Ten. Eleven. He couldn't carry this. He wasn't strong enough. His thoughts didn't follow from one another; he couldn't think, could barely breathe. What was this; where was he? It hurt. He didn't understand. 

Twelve. 

Whatever happened to Stradama when that last pox went, it was a fate worse than a second death - of that, he was sure, in that brief moment of lucidity before the full brunt of it bore down on him. He shuddered, suppressing a scream. It felt like melting out his own skin; felt like being reduced to nothingness. 

He reached out, grasping at Kevin’s gelatinous body. The ooze, perhaps sensing his intent, engulfed his lower legs and slowly began to carry him somewhere less exposed.

His mind raced. His thoughts jumbled. He could barely grab onto his thoughts. He went through the checklist. Who was he? He was Marileth, a plague deviser in service of Stradama. Who was Stradama? His Margrave; his closest friend. Not his only Soulbind, or at least, she hadn’t been. Her pain had blotted out whatever happened to Hamir and Ethion, but he couldn’t feel them.

What was he doing? He was crafting a potion. For whom? Stradama. What did it do?

When he reached for that thought, something bit back at him, some part of that old bond. He couldn’t remember. But it was important; that much, he knew. He was out here gathering ingredients, wasn’t he? 

And he needed his Apprentice. Where had that silly boy run off to again? He’d show up soon. He couldn’t quite remember his face or name, but as soon as he returned, everything would be alright. He could still feel Stradama, strange and confused and painful as it was. She was okay. It was all going to be fine.

**Author's Note:**

> I would die for Plague Deviser Marileth. 
> 
> Regarding other soulbinds being mentioned: Marileth mentioned that he's had a lot. My headcanon, based on what little we see, is that Soulbinding is more common in Maldraxxus, and often done for practical purposes, without as much of a deep connotation as it seems to have in Bastion. Certainly he seems to take it less seriously than the Ardenweald soulbinds do in their cutscenes.


End file.
